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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509473">You've got to stand for something (Or you'll fall for anything)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_changeling/pseuds/bookish_changeling'>bookish_changeling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Western, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Caring Dean Winchester, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Presumed Dead, Reunions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:26:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_changeling/pseuds/bookish_changeling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up without knowing who he is.</p><p>The only memory he can hold onto is a single name, and green eyes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Aaron Tippin's 'You've Got To Stand For Something'.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun shone brightly.</p><p>A strange thing to notice at the moment, but Castiel’s mind focused on that one, inane detail.</p><p>The sun was shining, and blood stained the hard packed earth.</p><p>The cliff dropped away steeply from the heels of his boots, and in front of him, he could hear the sharp laughter of his brother.</p><p>“You’re not getting out of here alive,” Michael said mockingly. “You, or your little friends. The three of you have been a stain in my ledger since day one, and I’m ready to end it, once and for all.”</p><p>“Do your worst.” He spoke without looking up, refusing to give his brother the pleasure of watching the pain in his eyes.</p><p>“No, Cas don’t-!”</p><p>A grunt of pain as Dean was silenced, and Castiel finally raised his head.</p><p>Michael was facing him, gun in hand, barrel facing him.</p><p>Behind Michael, two men on each side, Sam and Dean knelt, restrained.</p><p>Anguish radiated from every line of Dean’s face, but he couldn’t speak again for the gag hastily shoved in his mouth.</p><p>“Say your goodbyes, Castiel.”</p><p>He swallowed sharply, giving his best friends a tight smile. “It’s going to be okay.”</p><p>The sharp report of the gun echoed, once, twice, accompanied by a muffled scream, and the world fell away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>The voice amplified the pounding in his head, and as he doubled over, his entire body burned.</p><p>Fierce, stabbing, throbbing pain, that gave no relief, no respite.</p><p>“Can you tell me your name?”</p><p>His name.</p><p>His…</p><p>Name.</p><p>Surely that was important, but he couldn’t think past the pain.</p><p>With a quiet groan, he gave in, darkness closing in again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sound of rattling woke him, and he gasped in pain as he was thrown against a wall.</p><p>“Sorry son, these roads are mighty rough. We’ll have you to a doctor soon, don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time he woke up, he was on his back, and the pain had abated slightly, leaving him slightly more coherent.</p><p>“Sir? Can you hear me?” A young woman leaned into his eyesight, brow creased in worry.</p><p>As her frown deepened, he remembered he hadn’t answered her yet.</p><p>Opening his mouth seemed like a momentous task at the moment, and he settled for a slight nod.</p><p>“Good. Can you tell me your name?”</p><p>He sighed softly, opening his mouth-</p><p>And stopped.</p><p>His name.</p><p>His… his name.</p><p>She must’ve seen the panic on his face, for she turned towards the door, calling for the doctor.</p><p>It was a tall, thin man that appeared, looking almost like a crane without the feathers.</p><p>Tall, and sturdy, with a large hooked nose, and narrowly set eyes.</p><p>A bird-like man, seemingly.</p><p>The pain must be making him dizzy, he decided.</p><p>“Hello sir,” the doctor said cheerfully.</p><p>He settled for another nod.</p><p>“Charlene tells me you don’t know your name?”</p><p>He shook his head lightly, inwardly cursing as the slight movement set his head to throbbing again.</p><p>“I see. Do you remember anything about how you were injured?”</p><p>Another shake of his head.</p><p>“All right. I’m Doctor Macleod, and this is my assistant, Charlene.”</p><p>“Charlie,” the woman said quietly, giving him a grimace. “My name is Charlie.”</p><p>“You can call me Crowley,” the doctor said firmly. “You’ve been very ill, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“I figured,” he mumbled. “Where am I?”</p><p>“You’re in Purgatory, the biggest town south of Lawrence.”</p><p>Neither of the places seemed familiar.</p><p>“Is there anything that you can remember as to locations, any names, or something like that?”</p><p>A flash of green whirled through his mind.</p><p>Green eyes.</p><p>And-</p><p>“Dean,” he said softly.</p><p>“Is that your name?” Charlie leaned forward, eyes soft and curious.</p><p>“No. I don’t think so.” he closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “No. I don’t know what my name is, but I know it isn’t that.”</p><p>“Do you remember anything else?”</p><p>“Green eyes.”</p><p>“That’s all?”</p><p>He shrugged weakly, barely hiding the wince as pain flared up in his side.</p><p>“Try not to move,” Crowley said quickly. “You’re healing well, but movement will slow it down.”</p><p>“What should we call you?” Charlie leaned against the side of the bed. “I’ve been calling you Steve in my head. You look like a Steve.”</p><p>He closed his eyes tiredly. “That’s as good a name as any.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was out of bed at the earliest opportunity, exploring the town with many breaks to rest.</p><p>He had washed up at a river, apparently, with only the clothes he was wearing, and nothing else.</p><p>Steve- he hated that name.</p><p>It didn’t feel right, but it was the only one anyone had given him, so he accepted it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You’re Steve, right?”</p><p>He turned away from the bar counter, watching the newcomer as she slid into a seat beside him. </p><p>“That’s what I am called, yes.”</p><p>“I’m Meg. Nice to meet’cha.”</p><p>He lifted one shoulder, turning back to his bowl of soup.</p><p>“You’re not a chatty one, then?”</p><p>“I prefer to keep to myself.”</p><p>Meg huffed lightly. “I’ll bet you do. Listen, are you any good with a gun?”</p><p>He glanced back up, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know. That’s the funny thing about having no memories.”</p><p>She paused. “Wait- was that a joke? I really can’t tell.”</p><p>He sighed. “Yes, that was a joke. Why do you need to know?”</p><p>Meg leaned her arm on the counter. “I’ve got a coyote botherin’ my animals. Need it gone.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As it turned out, he was very good with a gun.</p><p>Muscle memory had him hitting all the posts dead on.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After that day, they stayed in touch.</p><p>She became one of his first friends in his new life.</p><p>Charlie Bradbury was quickly added to that list.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On the day that marked three months of being there, a strange woman rode into town.</p><p>She looked to be young, extremely so, but also as if she’d kill the first person that looked at her wrong.</p><p>She strode into the bar, slipping through the dinner hour patrons, and stepping up to the bar beside where he’d been sitting. </p><p>“I’ll have a whiskey,” she said.</p><p>Not loudly, but with a quiet assurance.</p><p>While she waited, he noticed her eyes restlessly roamed about the room, and they widened when she saw him. “What’s your name?”</p><p>He tilted his head. “Everyone calls me Steve.”</p><p>“Is that-” she took a deep breath. “Is that your real name?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t remember. Why?”</p><p>The girl reached into a pocket, pulling a folded piece of paper, and dropping it onto the bar. “I’ve been looking for you.”</p><p>His hand reached, unnoticed, for the gun at his side, while the other took the paper, and unfolded it.</p><p>It was him.</p><p>And it was a wanted poster.</p><p>Castiel Milton, it read.</p><p>The name felt right, but he narrowed his gaze on her. “Good luck with that. You’re not the first who’s wanted me gone.”</p><p>She shook her head, turning to scan the room again. “Listen. I’m not looking for a reward. A guy I know said you were- someone important to him and his brother, and he promised I’d get the reward if I found you, or information about you, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”</p><p>“That’s-” he shook his head. “That’s not any better.”</p><p>“My name is Joanna Harvelle. I was sent by brothers, named Sam and Dean.”</p><p>He stiffened at the name, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol. “What do they want with me?”</p><p>“Look, can we get out of here? I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”</p><p>He- Castiel, he realized- closed his eyes briefly, standing to gesture towards the door. “Ladies first,” he muttered sardonically.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She managed to convince him of her trustworthiness, and she spent the next hour detailing what had gone down the night before he woke with no memory.</p><p>“Dean said it was bad,” she murmured, eyes fixed on a distant point. “He looked like he hadn’t slept in months. They thought you were dead, and with good reason.”</p><p>Castiel released a long, slow breath. “Where are they?”</p><p>“They’re hunting Michael King, the guy that did this to you.”</p><p>The name sent a burst of dislike through him, and he gripped his hands together tightly. </p><p>“Said to meet them at Devil's Point, in a weeks time. That’s in three days, with hard riding.”</p><p>He nodded, staying quiet, mind whirling.</p><p>It was a lot to take in.</p><p>“Will you come with me?”</p><p>Castiel met her gaze, shrugging one shoulder. “Honestly? I don’t trust this. I don’t know you from Eve, and I’m not going anywhere, with anyone, when someone is gunning me down. So tell them they can come here, or nothing.”</p><p>Joanna grinned mirthlessly. “I can see why they like you. You’re not lacking common sense, that’s for sure.”</p><p>“Good luck,” he offered quietly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eight days later, Joanna came cantering in, barely stopping to tie her horse before storming into the bar.</p><p>He was sitting at his regular seat, and he eyed her warily as she hurried to his side. “He’s got them,” she hissed.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Michael King has Sam and Dean, and they’re gonna be dead before the week is out.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With his memory returned, Castiel is back on the hunt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blue-eyed man waited high on the rise, back against the stone wall, sharp gaze scanning the wells and dips of the plain.</p><p>The dust clouds rose higher, and soon the riders were revealed.</p><p>When Michael King rode into sight, it sparked a hatred as old as time in the blue-eyed rider’s heart.</p><p>When the rest of his party rode into view, they surrounded two captives on the same horse.</p><p>When the five men stopped, shoving the bound men onto the ground, he released a soft breath.</p><p>It’d been two days since his memory returned, and Castiel Milton was angry.</p><p>No- not angry- furious.</p><p>And on the warpath.</p><p>Michael King took everything from him years ago, on that burned out homestead, and now, twenty years later, he will not let everything be taken from him again.</p><p>Slowly, methodically, he loaded his guns.</p><p>One chamber at a time, each bullet round clicking into place with a sound of finality.</p><p>One way or another, this would end tonight.</p><p>He would not rest until he’d killed Michael, or died trying.</p><p>Either just Michael or both of them, because he won’t go out without a fight, but he is taking that murderer with him.</p><p>The encampment was loud, evidently not expecting anyone, and that added a point in his favor.</p><p>A quickly assembled campfire cast smoke past them, and the voices made it easy to move closer, disguising his footsteps under the loud bursts of laughter that erupt.</p><p>Sam and Dean were tied in the middle, backs to each other, a post between them, and he’s betting the ropes are tight enough to cut off circulation, given that they haven’t freed themselves yet.</p><p>Laughter rang out from the two men on the right, and Castiel’s eyes followed Michael as he flung himself down on the pile of bedrolls to take a drink from the leather flask in his hand.</p><p>Meanwhile, Castiel made preparations. In his right boot, he had stored a sheath of his knives, incredibly thin, four inches in length. Made of the hardest metal in the world, giving it the ability to hold a much sharper edge.</p><p>Now he reached, slow and silent, into the sheath, taking one out, and holding it gripped between his fingertips.</p><p>He had to time this exactly right, or he’d risk hitting something crucial.</p><p> With a quick movement, the slim knife embedded itself in the sand an inch to the side of Sam's hands, and he jerked, body stiffening, eyes flickering past where Castiel crouched hidden.</p><p>For several long seconds, they stayed still except for Sam’s frantic searching, caught in a frozen moment in time.</p><p>Sam recognized the knife, Castiel knew. He’d used them for target practice with his friend many times.</p><p>They had thought he was dead, he knew. With that injury, combined with the long fall and icy water, he should by all rights be dead.</p><p>Apparently not, though, because here he was, and as Sam’s eyes fell on his face, they widened, and a kaleidoscope of emotions washed across his face, foremost among them disbelief, followed by joy, and blinding relief. Castiel darted his gaze down to the knife, then back to the ropes, and back to Sam.</p><p>He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the understanding in Sam’s eyes, and moved back, fading from sight.</p><p>The whole thing had taken less than half a minute, and as he scanned the fireside again, Michael swaggered to the front of the rowdy bunch, looking as if he was enjoying the moment. “We’ve been after these two for three years, with these cowards hiding every step of the way. Well, not anymore! We took care of that snot-nosed brat Milton, and now we’ll wipe the last of them off the earth.”</p><p>“You’re a murderer,” Dean snarled. “Nothing but a weak, slimy, yellow-bellied excuse for a man.”</p><p>“Did you hear something?” The cold eyes swept his followers. “All I hear is a dead man.”</p><p>“You killed him,” Dean hissed. “You killed him, and I swear I will kill you for that.”</p><p>He’s talking about me, Castiel realized with a burst of warmth.</p><p>“Say your goodbyes, boys.” Michael scoffed. “And say hello to dear Castiel for me, will you?”</p><p>“I can hear you just fine from here,” he said loudly.</p><p>The effect was instantaneous.</p><p>Michael spun around with a curse, his group scattering in front of him, and Dean’s gaze flew from face to face, scanning beyond the fire, eyes wide, and achingly hopeful.</p><p>None of them had located him yet, and he smoothly stood from his crouched position in the shadows.</p><p>This time Michael located him, eyes narrowing furiously. “You.”</p><p>“Yeah, me.” Castiel slipped his thumbs through his belt loops.</p><p>He was inwardly glad that he couldn’t see Dean’s face, because surely his facade would crumble.</p><p>“How are you alive? I killed you!”</p><p>“No.” Castiel braced himself, widening his stance. “You shot me in the back and shoved me over a cliff. The act of a coward. But you didn’t kill me. See, I lost my memory, or I would’ve been after you long ago. So yes, I’m back from the dead. And there’s one thing you should know, Michael. Don’t mess with a dead man’s family, or he'll come back to haunt you.”</p><p>“I’ll kill you,” Michael hissed. Behind him, his men formed a defensive line.</p><p>“I’m not a defenseless child anymore, and I’m not going to let you stab me in the back again. You know I’m faster than you. You’re not leaving here alive.”</p><p>“As for the rest of you,” he added in a louder voice. “I’ve got five men out behind you with guns trained. The first to make a move dies.”</p><p>“Cas, get me a gun!”</p><p>He kept his eyes on Michael, pulling a pistol out of his belt with his left hand, and backing up until he felt Sam’s hand close around it. “Get Dean free,” he ordered.</p><p>He could’ve cried when he heard Dean’s voice at his shoulder. “Already done.”</p><p>“You’re a dead man, Milton.” Michael backed up a step. “You’re lying. You’re alone.”</p><p>“You wanna bet your life on that? You think I couldn't get a sheriff to lend me his men to take down Michael King?”</p><p>The hesitation in his eyes was all the proof he needed.</p><p>“Tell your men to stand down, and we’ll do this like men. You and me, King. Face me.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll kill you first, then your little ‘family’.”</p><p>“Cas, no-” Dean protested.</p><p>He stepped forward, footsteps soft in the hard packed dirt, until he was standing halfway between the two sides. “Come on.”</p><p>Michael stepped forward, matching him step for step, until they were fifteen paces apart, and they lowered their hands to their sides, eyes fixed on each other.</p><p>And then, in an infinitesimal second, he saw.</p><p>The tightening of the skin around Michael’s eyes.</p><p>The way his foot inched back.</p><p>The flicker of movement that had him diving for his own gun, raising it, and pulling the trigger.</p><p>He knew the moment his gun fired that it was true, that he had succeeded.</p><p>Something hit him, low on his hip, a muted blow.</p><p>Across from him, Michael crumpled, eyes vacant, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if the pounding in his ears was gunshots or his heartbeat, but when it ceased, he realized the other men had fallen, and it was silent save for the wind sweeping across the plains.</p><p>Then a hand gripped his upper arm, and he turned dazedly, barely registering Dean’s face, mouth moving quickly.</p><p>There was a strange warmth on his hip.</p><p>His knees buckled, and he hit the ground on his side, a white-hot pain lancing through him.</p><p>The sky was really blue.</p><p>Although it was getting darker.</p><p>Maybe it was night?</p><p>He could see Dean, and he looked scared.</p><p>Was Michael still alive?</p><p>Maybe he’d failed. Missed the shot.</p><p>But he was really tired. He could finish it later, right?</p><p>The world was getting darker, and Dean was crying.</p><p>The thought had his mind clearing as his heart twisted in his chest, and he lifted one hand, trembling with the exertion, to rest on Dean’s cheek.</p><p>He couldn’t speak, mouth slack.</p><p>Wetness brushed his fingertips, and Dean gripped his hand with both of his own. “Don’t do this to me,” he ordered, voice shaking. “Please, Cas- Not again.”</p><p>“Hold this, Dean!”</p><p>One of Dean’s hands dropped to press against his side, pain filled his body, and the last thing he knew before he blacked out was Dean, ordering him to stay awake.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Someone was singing.</p><p>Low, gentle, soothing.</p><p>The voice rose, dipped, softened, before trailing into another set of words.</p><p>It was beautiful.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Then someone else was humming.</p><p>No words, but the voice was higher, and younger.</p><p>Time passed, and the voices changed out until it was the first one again, this time talking, voice choked with emotion.</p><p>“I never told you. I couldn’t save you last time, and I thought I lost you, and wouldn’t have the chance again. Then I heard your voice, and- I thought I was going to die. I had given up. But when I heard you, I wanted to fight again. I needed to tell you. So now I need you to wake up so I can tell you.”</p><p>Warm breath on his cheek, and lips pressed against his forehead, dry, with the raspy feel of stubble.</p><p>“I missed you so much.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time he woke up, he knew he was awake for good.</p><p>All the heaviness was gone, leaving him weak but conscious.</p><p>He was alone, and he recognized the room and bed he was in.</p><p>It was one of the attic partitions in the Harvelle inn, the one belonging to Dean.</p><p>This was his room, and his bed.</p><p>And, as he realized looking down, his clothes as well.</p><p>His side throbbed, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed with a grimace.</p><p>Footsteps on the stairway caught his attention.</p><p>It wasn’t Dean or Sam, he knew that much. The tread was light, so either Ellen or Jo Harvelle.</p><p>The door creaked as it was pushed open, and Jo backed in, carrying a covered tray.</p><p>“Hello Jo.”</p><p>She jumped, spinning around with a gasp, heedless of the load she was carrying. “Cas! You’re awake!”</p><p>He smiled wryly. “You never told me you were Ellen Harvelle's daughter.”</p><p>Jo placed the tray on a stool, backing towards the door. “Yeah, sorry. Just let me go get my mom, or Dean-”</p><p>‘Can you help me up?” He interrupted.</p><p>“But I should-”</p><p>“I really don’t want to stay in bed.” He shrugged disparagingly, giving her a pleading look. “Please?”</p><p>"You're just like them," she sighed. "Sam and Dean are the most stubborn men I’ve ever met. Alright, fine. Don't blame me if I drop you, ya big lug."</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>Jo stepped closer, hooking her arm through his, and pulling him to his feet. </p><p>Despite her words, she was nothing but gentle, helping him limp to the door.</p><p>"They're still here, right?"</p><p>His question lacked confidence, and she could obviously tell, glancing at him from under his arm. "You kiddin'? Dean'd just as soon never eat pie again as leave you here even for ten minutes. Nah, they're helping out at the diner. We can go there."</p><p>Each step on the stairway let him discover new parts of his body to hurt.</p><p>Fifteen steps.</p><p>He's counted before, he just needs to make it fifteen steps to the door.</p><p>Eleven.</p><p>Ten.</p><p>"You feelin' better?"</p><p>Nine.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Eight.</p><p>"I've never been shot before. What's it like?"</p><p>Seven.</p><p>"I can't explain it, other than that it really hurts. Can't you ask Sam or Dean, not the injured man?"</p><p>Five.</p><p>"They won't answer me."</p><p>Four.</p><p>"Good on them. You shouldn't have to worry about getting shot."</p><p>Three.</p><p>Two more steps, and Jo reached forward to push open the door.</p><p>The air was hazy, voices rising above the clattering of dishes to form a hum of noise in the background.</p><p>No one looked up as they passed, and Jo settled him on a stool at the counter. "I'll get Dean to come out here, and I'll tell Mom to let him have the day off."</p><p>"Thank you, Jo." He smiled softly. "You're a good friend."</p><p>Jo flushed, waving a hand at him. "Don't say that too much or it'll go to my head."</p><p>She disappeared behind the curtain, and he rested his head on a hand.</p><p>The pain was slowly building, numbing him to outside interference.</p><p>The curtain rustled, and Dean stepped out, followed by Sam, both men inhaling sharply at the sight of Castiel.</p><p>"Cas?"</p><p>“Hello, Dean. Sam.”</p><p>Dean froze, eyes wide with a myriad of emotions, while Sam rushed forward to hug him.</p><p>Castiel grunted in pain as the squeeze took effect, and Dean jerked forward, pulling Sam away with a hissed reproach.</p><p>Then Sam was backing away with a joyful smile, and Dean took his place in front of Castiel, hands running over his shoulders, and down his sides.</p><p>Gentle fingers probed at his injuries, Dean frowning when he flinched. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed."</p><p>"I want to stay with you," Castiel murmured, fingers hooking into Dean's belt loops. "I missed you these past months."</p><p>Dean’s hands trailed gently upwards, slowly lifting to cup his face. "I'm stayin' with you, sweetheart. But you need to be resting.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“Nope. C’mon. You can get your fill of me once you’re back in bed.”</p><p>He followed silently, ascending the stairs he had descended only five minutes prior, but this time the arm around him was holding him closer than strictly required, and Dean kept glancing over at him as if making sure he was still there.</p><p>They reached the bedroom in silence, and Dean helped him back into the bed, pulling the blanket back over him.</p><p>Before Dean could move away, Castiel tugged gently on his wrist, pulling the blanket back in a clear invitation. </p><p>Without any argument, Dean toed off his boots, slipping into the bed beside him, clear relief on his features.</p><p>Castiel lifted his head to rest on Dean’s chest, while his arm wrapped tightly around Dean’s waist.</p><p>Dean pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathing unsteady, and he looked up to see wetness in his partner’s eyes.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>With a tiny shake of his head, Dean pressed his face into Castiel’s hair. “I’m fine, I just- I missed you.”</p><p>He pressed a kiss to Dean’s throat, ignoring the pain in his side to curl closer. “I forgot everything, when I washed up on the shore of the river. I don’t remember what the town was called, I was out of my mind with fever. Someone found me, dressed my injuries, and put me on the coach to the nearest town with a doctor. I couldn’t- I couldn’t remember anything. Not even my own name.”</p><p>At this point, Dean’s grip had tightened almost painfully, but he was silent.</p><p>“Nothing except your name. Dean. I remembered that, and green eyes.  At first I thought it had been my name, but then I- I somehow knew it wasn’t. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find you for so long, even when I didn’t- didn’t know who you were.”</p><p>Dean let out a shaky breath against his temple. “When’d you remember?”</p><p>“About a week ago, after Jo told me you were captured by Michael.  I left the town, started searching for news of Michael, knew he wanted to gloat over it, and wouldn’t have killed you that soon. Caught up-” he yawned, pressing his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “Caught up the day before, and waited for the right moment, to surprise them. It-” he yawned again, eyes drooping. “It worked better than I was expecting.”</p><p>Dean’s hand swept soothingly over his shoulders, grip loosening enough to resettle him in a more comfortable position. “We thought you were dead. Thought no way could you have lived through getting hurt like that, the fall, and the icy water. Should have known, though, cause you wouldn’t let a tiny thing like that keep you down.”</p><p>There was a forced lightness to his voice, and Castiel hummed quietly. “I promised you I wouldn’t die, remember? I always keep my promises.”</p><p>“I know you do, Cas.”</p><p>There was a long silence, enough that he was almost asleep when Dean spoke again.</p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>He gave a small noise, too tired to even open his eyes.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Castiel stopped breathing.</p><p>“Cas?” Dean’s hand froze on his back. “You’re kinda- not breathing. Did I-?”</p><p>“I love you too,” he whispered, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. “So much.”</p><p>Dean exhaled shakily, hand resuming the gentle sweeping motion. “That’s- good. Good.”</p><p>Another silence, and Castiel exhaled deeply, giving in to the fog creeping across his brain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he woke, Dean was still there, eyes closed, and breath coming easily.</p><p>Castiel lay there in the dusky light, silently counting the freckles scattered over Dean’s cheeks, and memorizing the way his eyelashes fluttered in sleep.</p><p>He had no idea how long he’d been staring when Dean stirred, pulling in a heavy breath, and rolling closer, pulling Castiel against him.</p><p>A flash of pain raced through his side, making him flinch, and Dean’s brow furrowed, eyes slowly opening.</p><p>Gaze still filled with drowsiness, Dean smiled at him, open, and inviting, looking years younger in the soft light. “Hey.”</p><p>Castiel smiled just as softly, bringing his hand up to tangle their fingers together. “Hello Dean.”</p><p>"I missed you," Dean said softly, leaning forward to kiss him softly. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."</p><p>“I should hope not,” he said softly. “I’ve been deprived of this for far too long.”</p><p>"We can just stay here." Dean ducked his head to press a soft kiss to the underside of his chin. "Forever. Never get shot, or thrown off cliffs, or anything like that. I can tend the bar, you can drive the coach. Stay here forever."</p><p>"That's the best idea I've heard all year."</p><p>"We'll do it," Castiel agreed quietly. "I'm getting too old to be getting shot. I've always wanted to have a garden."</p><p>"Then a garden you will have," Dean murmured.</p><p>They lay together in the soft light, both lost in their own thoughts</p><p>"I'm done with revenge," Castiel repeated. "It's done. I'm finished. I just want to live a life with you."</p><p>Dean rolled closer, lifting Castiel's chin up, and kissing him firmly. "There's nothing I want more."</p>
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